


Lovers

by lasergirl



Category: V for Vendetta (Comic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 16:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am not sure if this says what I want it to. But I can't help but try to dabble in the seriosuly deranged images I get in my head when I try to correlate the things I <i>believe</i> about V vs. the things that the movie was trying to tell me.</p><p>I don't believe V is sane at all. I think he uses his induced insanity as a weapon against everything that he hates. He is prepared to die for what he believes. And, contrary to popular opinion, he loves the People more deeply than anyone ever could. Because he has no Self. Because he's empty inside, and he fills himself up with humanity because he no longer has any. He has no name, no past, no future, no pain, no sex, no fear.</p><p>That said... the movie isn't perfect. But I will take it because it means well. It... well... is just a touch too mass-appeal for me. And of course, I want to poke things and make them better.</p><p>I didn't say it was good, either. And you're under no obligation whatsoever to say anything.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure if this says what I want it to. But I can't help but try to dabble in the seriosuly deranged images I get in my head when I try to correlate the things I _believe_ about V vs. the things that the movie was trying to tell me.
> 
> I don't believe V is sane at all. I think he uses his induced insanity as a weapon against everything that he hates. He is prepared to die for what he believes. And, contrary to popular opinion, he loves the People more deeply than anyone ever could. Because he has no Self. Because he's empty inside, and he fills himself up with humanity because he no longer has any. He has no name, no past, no future, no pain, no sex, no fear.
> 
> That said... the movie isn't perfect. But I will take it because it means well. It... well... is just a touch too mass-appeal for me. And of course, I want to poke things and make them better.
> 
> I didn't say it was good, either. And you're under no obligation whatsoever to say anything.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |    
[fic](http://lasergirl.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [movies](http://lasergirl.livejournal.com/tag/movies)  
  
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_ **FIC: V - Lovers** _

Is it truer in an act, or in the flesh? The truth, he knows, is not in the individual tiny motions that make up the movement. The way skin slides over muscle over bone. The bursts of electricity through synapses mean nothing. It is in the grand gesture that the final picture can be seen.

That glimpse, the first, nascent glitter of hope, started as a pulse along his spine. He can almost smell the chemicals, the way the air burned in his lungs at Larkhill. The way the cold tile went slapping against bare feet. The way the fear tasted, bitter, in the back of his throat. It would have been better to be rounded up and shot, but those thoughts do not occupy him now.

It is simple to make explosives from household products: he knows the simplest and can count them on the fingers of one hand. The art is in the procuring, the subtle science and anarchistic alchemy of potion production. Chlorine and mustard gas. Napalm and explosives. A man can make the atoms bond and bring down an entire nation. Vengeance is easy - it is Victory herself that is hard to determine.

His first lover was Lady Justice. That cold, domineering woman who dared weigh the lives of the innocent along with the guilty. She let atrocities parade unaccosted before her blinded eyes. She gave the scales to cruel men who misused them, and who twisted her rhetoric to imprison a country.

Oh, Lady Justice is a fierce mistress indeed. He dances in her shadow, tempting her with pretty words to open her eyes to the horrors around them. Stiff and silent, she refuses, holding aloft the empty signs of her rule. The scales have tipped, fallen and forgotten for another woman.

She comes cloaked in the night, as he clothes himself in her livery he forswears Lady Justice for Anarchy. Anarchy does not wear a pretty smile, nor whisper such sweet promises into his ear. But he believes her words far more than Justice. She promises him a future that need not be this one. It is to her he builds his shrine, his darkened sanctuary stacked full of sin. All the words that have been forgotten, all of the images and thoughts and beliefs that had been suppressed, these are his foundations. The Shadow Gallery is half sanctuary, half cemetery.

He does not love these painted ladies with their flashing eyes and sharp teeth. He supposes that he once had the capacity for the emotion, but somewhere, along with his name, his face, his humanity, it was stripped from him. Naked, cold and shivering, he had been locked into a tomb and forgotten.

The injections, the black bags, the ever-present guards, the aversion therapy, the starvation, the terrible stink of lye and human fat. The cries. The chemicals. The brutal grinding of dry bones against the stone floors.

He finds it a bitter irony that, in the end, a woman frees him from that prison. Her name is Valerie and, though he can not recall her face, her conviction sets a fire in his brain. He takes that spark and blows gaping holes in their plans, in their prison walls and fences. He is reborn in that fire that takes away the rest of his humanity, that one last illusion.

Oh, he does not love those women.

Questions? Comments? Feedback always appreciated.


End file.
